


Of Ignorance and Honor

by twistedkaleidoscope



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6882712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedkaleidoscope/pseuds/twistedkaleidoscope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the wall, Jaime and Brienne join the fight against the White Walkers and come to startling realizations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Brienne stumbles from her horse and meets the ground below with a crunch of the snow. Jaime juts out a helping arm to steady her and eyes her warily. Behind them, there is a snort of a horse and the quite murmur of soldiers. A light snow sprinkles down upon them, but nothing distracts him from Brienne’s slight flinch at his touch. 

She shakes him off with a shrug, guilt shining in her eyes, muttering, "I'm fine." 

He rolls his eyes in response and watches with some concern as she favors the right side of her abdomen. She turns away from him, but his eyes remain on her armor-covered form. He remembers the undead corpse of Catelyn Stark, her raspy words, and betrayal. He winces at the thought. 

He lets out a breath, watches as it circles in the frigid air and dissipates, remembering sleepless, frozen nights listening to her broken calls of his name as she tossed restlessly in her sleep. He eyes the rope marks on her neck, now yellowed, fading, and barely visible, but the image of what she had to have endured burns in his mind.

Brienne looks at the great Wall in front of them in amazement, unaware of his silent turmoil, her large mouth falling open in awe. Her innocence in that moment nearly blinds him, and he remembers the honor-filled knight he had first encountered by Catelyn Stark’s side. She was still so naïve then, her head filled with expectations of knights and nobility. For a moment, he steps besides her, watching her as she stares at the wall, and he catches a glimpse of that girl.

To her left, great doors open, and a group of men awaits on the opposite side, their black, furry coats billowing in the slight wind. Crows. He straightens unconsciously and brushes her arm with his golden hand to gather her attention. Her eyes flash to him and immediately darken, an immovable weight setting in behind brilliant blue. He desires to run his hand down her arm and settle his gloved palm into hers and squeeze, but he cannot. He glares at the useless, sparkling thing at the end of his arm and feels a phantom palm yearning for contact. 

He looks away and up. Their eyes meet for a moment, and a frown is tugging on her thin lips. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. 

He places the golden hand to the small of her back for only a moment, guiding them toward the open doors, and so together they walk into Castle Black with only a small group of his commanding officers following behind. 

Brienne continues watching him, growing more cautious, as they walk towards the men of the Night’s Watch, her hand moving to rest on her sword. Finally, they reach Crows and pause. Jaime steps forward, and Brienne reluctantly lingers a step behind, eyes flickering back and forth warily between the Lord Commander and Jaime. 

The latter adapts a grin onto his face, “You’ve moved up in the world, Bastard.” 

Brienne tenses as Jon Snow’s eyes narrow, and his lips press into a thin line. “As have you, Kingslayer.” 

Jaime continues melodiously with a condescending flick of his wrist, “Ah, yes, Lord of Casterly Rock, ever the dream come true.” Bitter undertones sneak into his voice that he tries to withhold. It is another sore point for him, being unceremoniously pushed from the Kingsguard and into his inheritance. Another broken vow. 

“Your letter said you are here to assist in the War for the Dawn,” Jon Snow ignores his comment, stiffly. Jaime tilts his head for a moment, staring at Jon Snow, and he sees Ned Stark in his bastard son. 

Then, to push the thought from his mind, Jaime’s eyes flicker backwards to Brienne, a smile flitting on his lips in amusement. Her eyes narrow slightly, and he knows she is frustrated with him. His smile widens. “Ever the original ones, are they not?” 

Brienne simply rolls her eyes as Jon Snow huffs and clears his throat, ever dutiful and focused. Yes, the boy is his father’s son.

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Yes, I am here to fight the undead, but first, I am famished. Surely you have a mess hall in this,” he hesitates a moment with an upturned nose, “fort of yours.” Jon Snow nods sharply, and they begin to follow him. As they walk, Jaime spies a giant amongst the crowd of men. 

Jon Snow looks at them over his shoulder and then slows to walk beside them, “Do not stare at him.” 

Jaime ignores this direction and continues to stare with wide eyes at the giant. His mouth falls open. As the giant turns to examine the newcomers, Brienne elbows him in the side, carefully keeping her eyes downward. He winces, looks at her, and quips, “Why, Wench, I believe you will fit in here perfectly.”

Much later, after being guided to chambers to redress, they are gathered around a table. Brienne is already seated when he shows up, nervously tense, and so he plops down beside her and nudges her with his shoulder. She ignores him at first, so he places a golden hand on knee and nudges. She lets out a carefully controlled breath. As he is quickly served by a steward, Brienne turns to look at him. He gives her a reassuring smile, and she nods, relaxing slightly. Jaime removes his hand and turns his attention to his food. Jaime pokes his fork at the mysterious meat on his plate and frowns. 

The man across from him, a scraggly man sitting to the right of Snow, mumbles an apology which Jaime shrugs off. He had, indeed, eaten worse. His eyes flitter to Snow, and he remembers the boy king, Robb Stark. He saw little similarities in their features and stance. 

Uninterested in the meal in front of him, Jaime continues to examine those gathered around him. Beside him, Brienne glances around the table nervously, not having touched her food. He nudges her again and meaningfully nods his head towards her food. She gives him no response but picks up her silverware and begins cutting. He thinks he hears the quiet rumble of her stomach. Stubborn wench.

Jaime’s eyes return to the Lord Commander, who is in turn watching the two of them warily. Jaime is unsurprised. He knows he deserves more than Snow’s watchful eye, having pushed his young half-brother from a tower. The thought brings him to Cersei, and he shakes his head. Better not to think on that. His eyes fall to the Night’s Watchman on Snow’s left, who had apologized earlier, a thin, dour sort of fellow with long, scraggly hair. 

Next, he observes the man to Snow’s left: a wilding with wild red hair and a full beard. Jaime scratches his own growing beard in thoughtful comparison and ponders on a wilding eating at the Night Watch Commander’s table. The irony makes him smile. 

The wilding is leaning forward into the table, his eyes focused and unmoving. Jaime follows the man’s line of sight and frowns. Brienne. As she lifts a second forkful to her lips, her eyes are drawn up, and they titter anxiously around the table. Brienne finally notices the wilding noticing her, and her eyes widen and immediately fall back to the table. She blushes.

Jaime’s frown deepens, and his eyes narrow. Keeping his eyes on the fiery-haired wilding, he asks, “How many wildings do you have?”

Snow looks to his left. The fire-haired brute of a man reluctantly tears his eyes from Brienne and grumbles out, “Not five thousand.” 

Jamie tilts his head, thoughtfully, “How many abled men to fight?” 

The wilding looks again to Snow, who gives an affirmative nod. They had no other choice but to trust Jaime, and he knew it. “Just under three thousand.” 

Lord Commander Snow looks to Jaime, “And you?”

“Four,” Jaime replies and raises his glass of wine to the wilding. He shifts closer to Brienne and grins. Snow raises a brow as he looks to his wildling friend. As Brienne finishes the food on her plate, Jaime taps his golden hand to her knee and smiles. The wench rolls her eyes and is, for a moment, oblivious to those around her. She relaxes momentarily, and Jaime begins to eat. 

The men around them in the mess hall are talking lowly, but the eyes of all appear to be on him, his men, and Brienne. For bloody criminals who had begged the crown for aid, Jaime thinks they seem quite judgmental and cautious about the form in which the support had arrived. Conversation at his table halts with such examinations. Snow, since his arrival, has not touched his food, but Jaime has no such problem. As Jaime skillfully cuts his meat with merely his fork, Brienne quietly yawns beside him. Jaime chews the bite and drops his fork to the table. He slides his chair back. “It has been a long journey.” 

After the sun sets later that evening, Brienne returns to the chambers so generously given to her by the Lord Commander, having seen to Podrick to ensure he had been fed and was safely settled. Pia, the girl Jaime had given to her, meets her outside the door, but she waves her away and bids her good night. Entering, she sets her sword on a table with a sigh and skillfully sheds her armor. 

As she removes the final piece, a loud whistle from behind her startles her, and she immediately grasps her sword and spins. She frowns. Jaime.

Comfortably nestled in the center of her bed, he smiles at her lazily. “You know there are hundreds of women who dream of me appearing in their beds at night.” 

Brienne rolls her eyes and sets her sworn down. “Several wilding men too, from the way they stared at you tonight.” 

Brienne moves to the foot of the bed, and Jaime’s mouth falls open, “Gods, Wench, have I stumbled into the wrong room?” 

She nudges his booted foot with her hand. His warm eyes playfully appraised her. She looks down to hide her blush, and Jaime barks out a laugh. “What are you doing in my chamber, Lord Jaime?”

His lips press together at his title. “You have been avoiding me.” 

“I have not,” she half-heartedly attempts to argue, unable to meet his gaze.

“You are a terrible liar, Wench, which is why I knew all along that we were not truly seeking Sansa Stark in the Riverlands." He pauses a moment, watches as she shifts nervously on her feet, and waits for his words to sink in. "But I followed you nonetheless.” Brienne stiffens at his words, and he moves to sit. Jaime swallows at the thought of her residual guilt, knowing that she still had not forgiven herself and her tarnished honor continued to haunt her. “You killed her to save me.” 

He moves to the end of the bed and stretches out a hand to pull her chin up so he can see her. She jerks her head away from his touch, but he still sees the tears gathered in her eyes. She blinks furiously. “Of course, I did.” She chokes out quietly as the silence envelopes them.

“She was already dead, Brienne.” Her head jerks at the sound of her name falling from his lips, and it takes more obvious effort for her gaze to remain on her boots. She swallows, and her bottom lip quivers. She swipes at the errant tears running down her blotchy red face. She is uglier when she cries, but Jaime pays no mind. “Forgive yourself. I forgave you long ago.” 

Her eyes finally seek his, as if to test his words. She looks away again and eventually whispers, “Truly?” He thoughtlessly reaches his hand out to wipe a tear from her ravaged cheek. Bloody, infuriating woman. She lets him. 

He nods, “Of course, you stubborn wench. I forgave you. After all, there being bloody well nothing to forgive. I followed you despite seeing through your awful, stuttering lies. And Catelyn Stark was already dead. Even if you struggle to admit it to yourself, you and I know that creature was not her. Stop letting it haunt you. You and I are alive. Pod is alive.” He pauses for a moment. A long moment. “Even Hyle Hunt is alive.” 

Brienne shakes her head affirmatively. “I know, Jaime.” 

“Will you quit with your bloody guilt and stop this blasted avoiding me then?” Jaime asks her, staring into her. Her arms are wrapped around herself, and he suddenly realizes his fingers still cup her cheek. He lets his hand drop. 

She simply nods again, chewing on her cracked, peeling lips.

He relaxes and smiles at her, moving to reclaim the stop he had vacated, “Now let’s go to bed. I know you’re exhausted.” 

Brienne stiffens again. Her eyes widen and dart to him, still in her bed. “Ja-Jaime-”

“Your boy is concerned about you not sleeping well.” He interrupts her. Pod had come to him wringing his hands, and after ten bloody minutes, he had finally realized the scared, stuttering boy was talking about Brienne. “Even Pia has come to me about it. You cannot wake this entire castle hollering my bloody name in your sleep.” She blushes, but he continues, “Jon Snow needs his beauty sleep.” 

“But Jaime-” Her face reddens even more.

“It is not as if we have not slept side-by-side in bundles before. Of course, you will argue that was quite different, and I will argue that this is quite a sizable bed. And you know I will eventually win this argument." He tilts his head to side, overly confident. Brienne says nothing but narrows her eyes at him. She draws herself to her full height and squares her shoulders to him. His eyes twinkle at her growing frustration. "I will be the perfect gentlemen, Wench. Your virginity will remain intact tomorrow. Gods, how you doubt me." He sighs dramatically. "I promise not to grope you in your sleep, if you promise to keep your hands to yourself.” He lifts an eyebrow and grins challengingly. 

She rolls her eyes. “You need not worry on that account.”

“But, of course, if you rather, I will sleep in my room at the end of the hall and just listen as the castle is woken by your screams of my name." He draws a finger to chin and murmurs thoughtfully, "Actually, I find that scenario quite appealing, after all." 

Brienne blushes for a long moment and looks around the room, as if desperately searching for other options, before shrugging her shoulders, defeated. Jaime smiles widely and hops from the bed to tend the fire. "I cannot have you catch your death so soon after I rescued you." 

While he prods the glowing embers and adds more wood, Brienne quickly removes the remainder of her outerwear and dives into the bed. As she settles beneath the covers and pulls the furs to her chin, Jaime tosses his head back to look over his shoulder. “Of course, you do not mind that I sleep naked?” 

Brienne chokes in response.


	2. The Sins That Haunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime explore Castle Black and learn more about each other.

Brienne opens her eyes to bright sunlight streaming in through frosted windows. She faces a stone wall and squints, trying to remember where she is. Castle Black. She yawns and stretches languidly after her comforting realization, her large body nearly covering the full length of the bed. Suddenly, she stills. Eyes widening in surprise, she quickly flips over to her other side. Jaime. She wonders at the empty expanse of bed beside her, her lips turning down slightly. 

A loud whistle interrupts her muse, and she jerks to face the sound. She finds Jaime standing at the foot of the bed, grinning knowingly at her. She blushes. He cocks his head to one side, “Miss me?”

Brienne rolls her eyes and sits, adjusting the blankets around her protectively. She examines him for a moment. His golden hair is shining brilliantly in the sun. Her eyes trail past his, and she pauses for a moment on his short, but lengthening, beard. Although it is scraggly and she can see wisps of grey amongst the gold, it does nothing to lessen his beauty. She feels heat rush to her cheeks at the thought. She quickly continues her examination, her eyes catching on his tunic, open wide at his throat, and the expanse of his chest that was exposed. She swallows, wanting a distraction, and her eyes dart to look at his right arm. His golden hand is absent, and his stump hidden behind his sleeve. In his other hand, he holds a goblet. 

Brienne’s stomach grumbles suddenly, interrupting her reverie. Jaime, unaware or disregarding her quiet observations, rolls his eyes. “See, this is what happens when a wench sleeps until noon.” 

Her mouth falls open in surprise, and she straightens. “Noon?”

His brow quirks, “I thought it was to be your sleep talking that awoke the castle, but instead, it was your snores.” 

She flushes again, avoiding his eyes. Her thoughts flash to her multitude of nightmares and various other dreams. She lowers her eyes, remembering the many times she saw Podrick and Lady Catelyn but mostly him die. She remembers the betrayal she has witnessed in her sleep and his biting insults and terrible words. She never knew she called his name in her sleep until the Brotherhood’s taunts reached her ears. She wonders if that title has followed her even here, to the Wall. 

Her eyes flash to the expanse of bed beside her, wrinkled and mussed from where he had slept, and she knows by now servants have found his untouched bed in his own chamber and have seen him going to and from her chambers. She supposes it was only inevitable but is unhappy at the thought nonetheless. She wonders at her exhausted choice the night before. 

Jaime draws her attention once again, “You missed breakfast, by the way. Lucky for you, I am a wonderful, kind, honorable man,” he pauses, placing the goblet on the table beside him and draws his hand into the pocket of his pants, “and stole you these.” He produces two bread rolls in a flourish and tosses them to her. Her hands scramble to catch them, and she does not hesitate to bite down into the first one, savoring it in her mouth. 

“Thank you,” she mumbles around a mouthful of bread. 

He grabs the cup from the table and plops on the end of the bed. He offers it out to her. 

She takes it with a grateful nod, quickly gulping the drink down. She chokes for a moment once the taste hits her tongue and nearly spits it out. He falls down to the bed beside her, laughing. She glares at him as she swallows. “Wi-wine! Th-this is awful!” She gasps, puckering her lips and making a face. 

Still chuckling, he smiles up at her. “You were fortunate to have missed out on this lovely vintage at dinner last night. I could not dare allow you to have such fortune today.” 

She eyes the offending liquid carefully, considers forcing the rest down his throat at his cheerfulness. She shoves the rest of the remaining bread roll in her mouth to rid the taste. She looks down to glare at him to find himself staring at her, an indecipherable look across his face. She shifts uncomfortably beneath his gaze and looks away from him, forgetting her anger. 

Unthinkingly, she takes another sip from the goblet and sputters. Jaime’s loud laughter at her expense must echo throughout Castle Black.

As Jaime flits away to go explore the fort later, Brienne warns in a harsh whisper, “Stay out of trouble, Jaime.” 

The smile he offers her in return is virtuous, but his expression is decidedly nefarious. “Brienne,” he scolds her, holding a palm to his chest in mock distress. “How little faith you have in me!” 

She stalks away from him then, expelling her breath in a frustrated huff, marching towards the snow-covered grounds. She quickly finds Podrick, standing outside watching two Night’s Watchmen spar. She stops beside him. “My Lady-Ser,” the ever-confused squire stutters. 

She presses her lips together. “Hello, Podrick, I trust you slept well.” She watches him carefully as he rapidly nods in response.

“The best I’ve had in months,” he tells her, and she genuinely believes him. She feels herself relax at his answer, unknown worry uncoiling from her shoulders. 

Brienne nods in response and turns her eyes from him, signaling an end to conversation. She considers the two men exchanging swings with shoddy footwork but heavy-handed swings. Soon, they are both exhausted, having expended nearly all their energy. Another harsh blow soon unarms one man, and the other lifts his sword to his throat. 

As the former breathlessly yields, Brienne looks to Podrick. He wordlessly nods in acquiescence, and after handing her a sparring sword, they take the places of the two watchmen. 

Brienne squares her shoulders to him, testing the grip of the sword in her hand. She breathes with upturned lips as the wind catches her hair. She and Podrick nod to each other, and they begin.

Jaime finds her a spell later, gently correcting Podrick’s errors. She glimpses his blond hair from the corner of her eye, and she looks to him. He smiles at her as he takes in her windblown hair and exertion-flushed cheeks. He pushes through several men gathered around and moves to Podrick’s side. “May I?” He gestures towards the sparring sword, and Podrick quickly thrusts it into his awaiting hand, always eager to please. 

Podrick scurries away from the duo, and Jaime grips the sword in his hand as he turns to face Brienne. She lifts a brow, eyeing him questioningly. “This castle is more boring than you, Wench.” 

She does not reply, instead readies her own sword in his hand, and soon, they are dancing. His sword finds hers first, testing, as she simply parries and steps back, simply playing defense, as her wont. He frowns at her strategy, knowing she purposefully takes advantage of his restless, eager nature. 

Brienne remains expressionless as they circle around each other cautiously. Adrenaline from her sparring with Podrick rushes through her veins, and she itches to reach out and strike her sword against his. Jaime takes notice of her restlessness and does not break their dance. Finally, she loses her poise and steps forward, swinging her sword at him wildly. He meets her swing with a grunt, blinking at first in surprise before grinning. 

They trade hard blows that leave them both panting, neither gaining an upper hand. They step back a moment, circling again. Together, they step forward a moment later and swing simultaneously, and the resulting blow echoes throughout her arms. She frowns and gasps for air, the cold surrounding her. Jaime swings low at her feet, and she jumps back, avoiding his strike. She swings at his upper right side, often left unprotected, and he recovers just in time. She pushes her sword against his, hard, and steps into it. His left arm shakes in exertion, but he holds. However, she is still weak from her time with Lady Stoneheart and the Bloody Murmurs, and her earlier bouts with Pod have nearly pushed her to exhaustion. Perhaps, this is however Jaime is able to surprise her, quickly pushing his sword up and causing hers to fly upwards as well. 

Suddenly, he is lunging throughout the space between them at her, and she hits the ground hard with a groan. Her recovering body starts, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins disguising the pain, and she is loath to be defeated by Jaime. Swords forgotten, she twists beneath him as he attempts to hold her down, overpower her. She pushes upwards into him with all her strength and overwhelms him, gaining the upper hand and pushing him down to the ground beneath her. 

Straddling him, she squirms as she attempts to grab his flailing arms. He gasps and stills. For a moment, she thinks she won, and then, he begins fighting again, harder, empowered, a strange gleam in his eyes. With his reinvigorated strength, he easily twists their bodies again and traps her beneath them. He sits on the middle of her abdomen this time, trapping one arm beneath him, and grasping the other with a strong, bruising grip. 

“Yield,” he tells her, in a carefully controlled voice. Her eyes snap to his in shock at his tone. 

She squirms beneath him, reluctant to yield. “No,” she juts her chin out, proudly. "Bloody woman," he murmurs, so close to her face, and he tightens his hold her body. "Yield, damn it." She winces as his restraint becomes painful. He stops at her reaction and releases her. He quickly rises to his feet, ignores his discarded sword, and storms off.

Brienne scrambles to her feet and watches him go in confusion. "Jaime," she calls, but he ignores her. Beside her, a tall wildling with fiery-red hair appears, “If you’re seeking another partner, I’m very ready and willing.” He eyes her deliberately. 

With a barely contained look of shock and confusion, she stutters, “Th-thank you for your offer. Per-perhaps another time.” She eyes him carefully for a moment longer before her thoughts return to Jaime. Her eyes flick again in the direction he fled in. She sighs, a quiet sound. Feeling eyes on her, she examines her surrounding and sees several men watching her curiously. She blushes. Quickly handing her sword to Podrick, she quickly begins walking away from the crowd. 

She decides to explore Castle Black, for a lack of other occupation, as the cold chills her bones and sets out, discovering crevices and hidden crannies. Rounding one corner, Brienne stutters to a stop as she nearly collides with a giant wolf. A direwolf. Her hand flies to the hilt of her sword in habit. The wolf’s red eyes examine her cautiously. She stills where she stands, not daring to move a single muscle. She had known of Starks and their wolves. A moment later, she hears footsteps, and Jon Snow appears, trailing behind his pet. 

Snow moves to stand beside the great beast and scratches its ears, affectionately. “I was wondering where you wandered off to, Ghost.” Brienne watches the interaction curiously, and soon Jon’s attention turns to her as he notices her presence. Jon straightens as he looks up to her. Standing as they were, she easily towers over him. He bows, respectfully, “My Lady.” 

She inclines her head in return, “Thank you, Lord Commander, but I am hardly a lady.” 

She waits for him to sneer and grimace at her appearance, but he never does. He only watches her for a moment, thoughtfully, as if she was very interesting, “And I am simply Jon.” 

“Very well. I would prefer Brienne, if it pleases you,” she replies.

“You are quite close to the Kingslayer, are you not?” Snow asks her, voicing his thoughts straightforwardly. Brienne tenses at the name. 

When she replies, her voice is steel, “One could say that I am.” 

Jon Snow tilts his head. “How?” He asks quietly, as if to himself.

Brienne tenses. “Jaime-Lord Jaime is an honorable man.” 

“So honorable he pushed my ten-year-old brother from a tower?” Jon Snow laughs humorlessly. 

Brienne starts at his accusation despite herself. She had not heard of that before and tries to doubt his words. Jaime was a different man before he lost his hand, before she knew him. But she knows him now and meets his accusation with a truth, “Lord Jaime, stricken with illness and one-handed, dove in a bear pit to save my life.” At that, Snow’s eyes widen. Brienne continues, her voice growing softer, “He risked his life to return to his captors, who cut off his hand and threatened his life and faced a bear to save my own, a woman he had hardly known.”

Snow is quiet for a moment. “Jaime killed the king, who he was sworn to protect, and illegitimately fathered two more with his twin sister.” Brienne frowns, remembering Jaime’s fevered ramblings in Harrenhal. Jon Snow, however, continues, unaffected by her reaction, and his voice hardens. “He is responsible for the deaths of my brother and his mother, wife, and unborn child.” Snow's hands fist, and he whispers. "If I was a better brother, I would have avenged him at my first sight of Jaime Lannister." 

Brienne’s eyes prickle at this, thinking of Lady Catelyn, dead and alive. She chokes out, “The Lannisters are responsible for their deaths. Lord Tywin, not Jaime." She draws to her full height at her slip. "Lord Jaime swore an oath to Lady Catelyn, as I did, to free the ladies Sansa and Arya from King's Landing and bring them back to her.” 

Jon Snow, bitterness shining in his eyes, responds, “And how did that oath work out?” 

Brienne blinks rapidly, trying to clear tears from her eyes and compose herself, thinking of broken and unfinished oaths. Lady Catelyn. Lady Sansa. Young Arya. At her reaction, Jon Snow’s anger dissipates. “Lo-Lord Jaime is a good man,” she chokes out, finally, before turning and fleeing. 

Brienne avoids dinner that night despite her grumbling stomach, not knowing whether she is avoiding Jaime, Jon Snow, or that strange wilding. She tries not to think on any of them.

She thinks of her oath to the strong Lady Catelyn, the type of woman she would never be, and remembers her promise to bring her daughters home safely. Brienne thinks of Lady Arya, dashing off alone into the wilderness after her fight with Sandor Clegane, and of Lady Sansa, disappearing beneath her nose at King’s Landing. 

She does not know if either is alive, but Jaime sometimes tells her rumbles of a tiny boy who resembled a girl taking a boat across the Narrow Sea and of the Littlefinger’s Tully-resembling niece, rumors stretching of the latter from the Vale of the Arryn to the North. But many have told stories of the missing Stark girls, and nothing can remove the memory of Lady Stoneheart and her cold accusations. 

Brienne eventually finds herself atop the Wall, strong winds whipping at her clothes, as she is afraid to return to her chambers. She separates herself from the Night’s Watchmen on guard before finally examining the world below.

Darkness stretches as far as she can see beyond the Wall, and her heart clenches, thinking of the horrors that exist: men with glowing blue eyes rising from the dead with flesh falling from their bones but attacking the living nonetheless. She shivers at the thought and tries to prepare herself for the battle ahead. She thinks of her father and poor Galladon. 

Suddenly exhausted, she removes Oathkeeper and collapses to the ground in a heap. She places her sword beside her and draws her knees to her chest, tucking them beneath her chin. 

Brienne sits there for a long time, fighting the urge to cry. She has wept too much. Jaime finds her there, staring into the darkness beyond the Wall with rosy red cheeks illuminated by a torch. She does not look at him. He is breathless. “I have looked for you everywhere.” 

She does not blink, and his words do not register. He falls silent, but she can feel his presence beside her. After two long moments, she finally speaks, “Did you push Jon’s brother from a tower?” 

Jaime is silent beside her for a spell, and he sinks to the ground beside her. “Yes,” he breathes, quietly. 

He dares to look at her, to watch her reaction, but she has none. “And he was only a child?” She speaks again after another pregnant pause. 

Jaime stares at her blue eyes, darkened by the night, looking unseeing into the abyss. His voice is heavy, “Yes.” 

Finally, Brienne turns to look at him. Reluctantly, he meets her eyes, expecting to see hatred, disappointment, or even anger. Their eyes meet for a moment. Her eyes are unreadable. Finally, she looks away from him and back into the darkness. “I forgave you long ago for your sins, Jaime.” She breathes at last. “It is time you forgive yourself.” She does not express her desire that others forgive him and come to know this new Jaime, who she feels is this person known uniquely by her, but she feels it all the same. She thinks he often enough reads her other thoughts, so surely this is known to him as well.

He stares at her in amazement, the best person he has ever known. He stares at her hand, resting on the icy ground beside her. He reaches for it, wrapping his long fingers around hers. She lets him, and together they sit for a while.


	3. The Moments That Define

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is uncomfortable and Jaime is finally serious as they experience consequential moments and eavesdrop.

Brienne wakes early the following morning, just as the sun is peaking over the horizon. She watches as dim yellow dances with bright red across the floor of her chamber. She smiles, relishing at the peace of the moment. 

Suddenly, a soft snore rumbles from against the center of her back. Brienne’s smile vanishes, and she stiffens. Jaime’s arm is strewn across her center, and his head is nestled into her back. She swallows heavily, debating on untangling herself from him. Weighing the risk of waking him against the ultimate awkwardness of when he does wake, her eyes flutter shut, and she drifts back to sleep. 

A tugging at her hip awakens her much later, and Brienne feels a head nuzzle her neck. As warm breath tickles her ear, she shivers, unintentionally burrowing further into the body curled around her. A breath escapes Jaime in a huff, and Brienne shivers again at the sensation. His hand grasps more tightly at her hip, stilling her movements. 

She blushes at the knowledge he is awake behind her. There is a long moment before Jaime leans into Brienne’s ear and whispers, “Good morning, wench.” She can hear his amusement in his voice, but there is an edge to it she cannot understand. Her blush intensifies. He doesn’t attempt to extract himself from her, but, in her embarrassment, Brienne quickly takes the initiative and untangles her body from his. 

She thinks she sees Jaime frown for a moment from the corner of her eye, but she brushes the thought away. “Jaime,” she nods, more comfortable with the space between them. 

Jaime grins and watches her. She shifts uncomfortably beneath his stare and tries to steel herself at the glint in his eye. She knows his teasing will quickly follow. “Did you enjoy waking in my arms?” Her splotchy blush covers her entire face in bright red at the inappropriate implication behind his question. At her lack of response, he continues, “I know I certainly did.”

Her eyes fly to his as her eyebrows jump in pure bewilderment. His gaze is completely unreadable, and finally she rolls her eyes in lack of a retort. She doesn’t understand the joke. 

Jaime simply sighs, rolls on his back, and changes the conversation. “I have to spend the rest of the morning with Jon Snow. He might be more annoyingly honorable and boring than his father.” His eyes find Brienne again, “I thought that was impossible.” 

“He is not so bad.” Brienne defends, knowing Jaime probably considers her even more annoyingly honorable and boring than the Lord Commander.

With his arms folded comfortably behind his head, Jaime lies stretched across the center of her bed. His eyes search hers. Almost as if reading her line of thought, he says, “The bloody man is even a worse conversationalist than you. You cannot argue with that. He is so bad that he drove you to seclusion atop the Wall after one conversation.” 

Brienne’s eyes widen in shock. She didn’t realize he was aware of her conversation with Jon Snow. She supposes he could have been drawn to the conclusion after her line of questioning last night, but his expression leads her to a different conclusion. Composing herself, she shrugs at his accusation and asks, “How did you know?” 

Jaime, this time, will not meet her eyes. He looks almost sheepish and shrugs, “I asked around when I could not find you.” At his reaction, an unbidden smile teases her lips. She rarely smiles now, and Jaime finds himself smiling genuinely along with her. “You will come with me to this council, won’t you?” He finds himself asking. 

Brienne crosses her arms and raises a brow. Her smile widens at a thought, and he sees her relaxed for the first time in many moons. She accuses, “Coward,” but does not decline.

Jaime barks out a laugh, happy, successful, and proud of his increasing influence over her. 

After a while, they finally depart from Brienne’s, now possibly their, chambers. Jaime leads, skillfully navigating through the corridors and rooms that seem so similar to Brienne. She follows, stumbling through the castle behind him. She grows increasingly confused, and her hand lingers at Oathkeeper on her hip for a sense of comfort and security. 

She supposes they must be deep in the belly of Castle Black when they hear voices. Jaime stills mid-step, and Brienne nearly topples into his back. The deep rumble of the voices startles her at first, but upon gaining her thoughts, she turns to walk away and avoid eavesdropping. Jaime grasps her arm to stop her, and he presses his back to a wall.

“The Kingslayer-” Jon Snow begins. At the nickname, Brienne stiffens, her eyes flying to Jaime’s face. Jaime, adjusted to the insult after years of torment, has no outward reaction, but his grip on her arm tightens slightly. 

A second voice interrupts Snow, and Brienne recognizes it to be the red-haired wilding, “The man is prettier than you are, Snow.” Jaime grins widely at her, and she knows he is elated by the compliment. Her returning gaze is carefully controlled and flat. “I thought that to be impossible. His hair glows in the sun.” At that, Jaime wiggles his eyebrows and shakes his shoulder-length hair. She quickly thinks of her own straw-colored hair, cropped shorter than his. She quietly huffs and rolls her eyes at his arrogance.

The wilding continues, “I don’t trust a man who has hair like that. It’s unnatural.” Jon Snow snorts, and Brienne even bites her lip to stop her laugh. “I know not one girl so fine, and his clothing-” Brienne is shaking now, desperately trying to hold in her laughter, as Jaime’s smile drops into a frown. 

Unfortunately, Jon Snow’s own rolling laughter drowns out the rest of his musings. “Tormund,” he calls with laughter in his voice. Tormund, Brienne submits to memory. “I am baffled at how you have been able to examine the Kingslayer thus as you have been increasingly distracted as of late.” There is an accusation in his tone that Brienne struggles to comprehend. She fails. Her eyes flicker to Jaime’s curiously, but Jaime’s frown simply deepens. All the humor has left Jaime by now, and his eyes narrow. He glares hard at the wall in front of him. Brienne watches him questioningly.

Meanwhile, the wildling growls in response to the Lord Commander and says nothing. Brienne looks to Jaime again and finds him standing tensely with his arms crossed.

Snow guffaws again, relaxed in the company of his friend. Once his laughter subsides, his voice his solemn again. “The Kingslayer-Jaime Lannister,” he tries, “has an army of four thousand armored and battle-trained men.”

Jaime tilts in head, listening intensely, and Brienne continues to carefully watch him. Tormund harrumphs in response. “Trained in battle is different from living in one.” 

“Yes,” Jon allows, “But four thousand healthy men is better than three weary wildlings, especially with an army of a hundred thousand undead bearing down on us. You may not trust the K-Jamie Lannister. I may not trust Jaime Lannister. But we must.” Snow pauses, and a heavy silence consumes them. Brienne trembles slightly at the mention of the undead and imagines a hundred thousand Lady Stonehearts, hungry for revenge and ready to unleash terror on the living. “If we are to save the realm and have the slightest chance for survival, we must trust Jaime Lannister.” 

The fiery-haired wilding huffs. “From what you’ve told me of ‘im, I think I’d rather just face those bloody white walkers.” Jaime’s eyes narrow. Brienne frowns and shifts, instinctively wanting to defend him. 

Jon Snow laughs, humorlessly. “We shall face them eventually.”

“Just watch your back, Jon Snow. You’re aggravating as hell with your damn honor and oaths, but those other Crows are worse.” Their eyes meet as their thoughts flitter to their early conversation. Jaime nods in silent agreement with the wildling.

When Lord Commander Snow speaks, Brienne can hear the humor in his voice. “I always knew you cared, Tormund.” 

The wildlings harrumphs again, and heavy footsteps march across the floor. Brienne’s breath catches in her throat, and she stills at the thought of being caught. Jaime grasps her arm, pulling her along, and she stutters alongside him as they move from the corridor as quietly as her large, ungraceful body would allow. 

Finding a dark alcove, Jaime yanks her in with him and releases her arm. His hand fists, and he exhales angrily. “I do not like that bloody wildling,” he tells her vehemently. He paces in the tiny space, causing her to press her back tightly against the wall to give him more room. “I don’t like him at all.” His hand clenches around the hilt of his sword. Jaime’s eyes glitter wildly, and finally Brienne stretches out to grab his arm. 

His movements cause her to grip precariously close to his stump. He freezes, and she immediately releases his arm. “I am so sorry, Jaime. I didn’t mean to hurt-”

“You did not hurt me.” His voice is quiet, his anger vanished. “It has been a while…” Jaime trails off, but she knows his meaning. It has been a while since anyone has touched him there.

Unthinkingly, she reaches out and pulls his left arm to her. He lets her and takes a small step closer to her. She looks to him, seeking permission, but he refuses to meet her eyes. His gaze is instead fixed on her arm on his forearm, and his head is tucked to where she cannot see his face. So, she simply takes his lack of response as permission and gulps. Her courage is fleeting, but she steels herself stubbornly despite the tingling nervousness building in her stomach. 

Her heart beats erratically, and she tells herself that she is being ridiculous, that this is simply Jaime, that this moment has no magnitude. However, there is a heaviness in the air, and she has the feeling that this moment is significant. She thinks it must be meaningful, especially to Jaime, who seems just as unsettled as she is, with his breaths coming in quick, nervous pants. She wonders if anyone has touched his stump before or if they only simply watch it with disgust.

Her mind flitters then to his beautiful, perfect sister, possibly the only person in the realm who competes with Jaime for beauty. She remembers Cersei’s accusation in King’s Landing, and her chest twinges at the thought. She looks at the man in front of her in amazement as she often does. He is easily the most beautiful person she has ever met, hand or no hand, even with his beard and golden hair increasingly streaked with steel. 

And finally, Brienne allows herself to think on him, on them. She thinks of the way he watches her, the weight of his gaze. A warmth ignites deep in her belly. She thinks of how he trusts her implicitly, despite her past actions. She thinks of his sins and of hers. 

Then, she remembers. She remembers initial distrust and, even, hatred of him. She remembers him returning to save her from the bear, diving into the pit in front the monstrous creature to protect her as no one ever had. She remembers gifts upon her departure from the Red Keep, even gifting her his honor to protect and see through, and their brief reunion at the siege of Riverrun. She remembers holding his hand the night before atop the Wall and awaking to find him holding her this morning. 

Brienne blinks to dissipate her thoughts and, as one hand grips his forearm, she slowly allows her other hand to reach up to touch his stump. Her hand caresses it softly, fingers sliding against the skin. Her fingers brush against the puckered skin of the center where the skin was tightly sealed together. For a few moments, they stand together with Brienne stroking the stub of his arm. And then she comes back to reality and drops his arms, moving away from him.

“We-we should find the Lord Commander.” She stutters. “I am sure we are late.” 

Jaime has no reaction to her words and continues to stare at his stump for a moment longer. Eventually, he looks up to gape at her. She shifts uncomfortably, and he clears his throat, “Follow me,” and steps from the alcove, beginning to maneuver through the twisting corridors again. 

Although nothing is spoken and nothing truly changes, Brienne feels as though something has shifted. 

Her heart pounds nervously in her chest.


End file.
